While The Sky Still Burns

Drink deep the wine of the waking sun— Its golden breath spills over trembling hills, And morning, that fragile and flaring drum, Beats wild against time’s shrinking quills. The hour is ripe with unsung fire, A tapestry woven from wind and flame. Step out — no fear, no false desire — The world does not wait, nor call your name. The robin’s hymn is a ribbon of light, braiding silence with a fierce refrain. Even dew-draped leaves, kissed by night, Gleam like emeralds in love with rain. Why tarry beneath your own heartbeat? Each pulse is thunder, each breath a bell. Let not your dreams rot incomplete, Buried in comfort’s perfumed shell. Dance barefoot through fields unbeholden, Where the earth aches to feel your grace. Speak truths in tongues, both raw and golden, Let courage rise like stars from your face. Write poems on the walls of the dusk, Sing lullabies to the bones of fear. Kiss with a hunger that turns to musk, Love like the end is always near. For see — no prophet, no priest can bind Tomorrow in parchment or sacred decree. The sky may fall. The sun may blind. You only have now to be free. So lift your voice like a chalice to fate, Let your soul spill over the rim of day. While the sky still burns, and time runs late, Be the fire that doesn’t fade away.